only been there once in his life before, and then in broad daylight, was beyond my understanding. But there were one or two things about St. Luke which I couldn’t make out, either then or afterwards. Anyhow he forged his way ahead as if he had been used to the place from his cradle up. Never seemed puzzled for a moment.
Presently we reached an open space. The moon shone down so that it was as light as day. Only there was a fringe of outer darkness all around. Luke made a queer noise with his lips. I suppose it was some sort of bird he was imitating. He repeated it three times; with an interval between each. Then something came out of the darkness which took me all aback.
It was a woman.
When she first appeared she had something white over her, head and all. Coming close up to us, drawing the covering aside with a dexterous switch, she stood bareheaded. I stared in amazement. I had not known there were such women in the world. I stammered to Luke—
“Who’s this?”
To my astonishment she answered—in English a thousand times better than mine. It was a treat to listen to her.
“It is I.”
Off came my cap in a twinkling.
“I beg your pardon. I had no idea I was to meet a lady.”
“A lady? Am I a lady? Yes?” She laughed. She alone knew what at. Such laughter! “I am Susan.”
Susan! She was as much a Susan as I was a Jupiter. I said then, and I say now, and I shall keep on saying, she was the loveliest creature I had ever seen even in—I won’t say dreams, because I don’t dream—but in pictures. She was straight as a mast. Carried
